


Close Call

by outlier



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, Kink Meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2013-09-13
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:43:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outlier/pseuds/outlier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One minute Natasha is there, sitting in the chair across from her desk, and the next she’s gone. It’s done so quickly and seamlessly that she begins to wonder if she was hallucinating Natasha in the first place because a person can’t disappear, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Call

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Fifth Annual Femslash Kink Meme. Prompt: Pepper Potts/Natasha, Natasha eats her out under the desk during a meeting/while on the phone

One minute Natasha is there, sitting in the chair across from her desk, and the next she’s gone. It’s done so quickly and seamlessly that she begins to wonder if she was hallucinating Natasha in the first place because a person can’t disappear, right?

“Ms. Potts?”

Pepper blinks and refocuses her attention on the man – Dawkins – staring back at her from her computer screen.

“I apologize,” she says smoothly, offering a conciliatory smile. “My assistant was at the door. Please continue.”

He’s off and running a second later, his speech liberally peppered with words like tech, spec, operational capacity, and cannibalizing, the latter of which catches her off guard until she realizes he’s talking about what their competitor is doing to their own product line.

She nearly jumps out of her chair when something brushes against her ankle. As discreetly as possible, she risks a glance downward.

There, crouched between her legs, is Natasha, smiling back up at her.

Pepper’s lips tighten into a scowl she immediately has to redirect into a smile.

“I’ll conference him in now,” Dawkins says – and who and why escapes her – and Pepper takes the moment to look down and shake her head furiously.

Natasha seems blissfully unaware. She’s busy running her hands up and down Pepper’s calves, inching higher with each pass, the most innocent of smiles on her face.

On the computer, the screen splits in two, and Pepper jerks her head up just in time to bow respectfully. “Konnichiwa, Saitoh-san. How are you today?”

She tries to close her legs, but Natasha is ridiculously strong. Instead, they’re pushed open even wider, and her skirt skims up almost to her hips to accommodate the shift. Natasha helps it the rest of the way, and Pepper tries not to squirm at the feel of the cool leather of her chair against her skin.

Her smile, already strained, tests the boundaries of the expression. “That’s completely understandable,” she says, and wonders if she’s just okay’ed an inexcusable project delay because she can’t manage to make her brain function.

There’s a snick, barely audible, and Pepper’s eyes widen. She knows that sound, or at least she thinks she does, and when she spares a glance down to verify, it’s to see light glint dully off of the black blade of Natasha’s tactical folding knife. Panic rises in her throat; there’s very little keeping her in check as it is, and if Natasha does any one of a thousand things with that knife, she’s going to embarrass herself in front of a pair of their key scientists.

The blade of the knife slides along the top of her thigh. It’s razor sharp – she can feel the bite of it, leaving a sensitized, raw trail on her skin, and one of her hands comes down so hard on her desktop that Dawkins begins to apologize profusely.

“…inadequate supply chain,” he’s saying, and she’s quivering because Natasha is sliding the blade of the knife under the silk fabric of her panties, over the curve of her hip, and the cloth parts as easily as if it was paper. She knows what to expect when Natasha settles the blade on her other leg, and the anticipation winds her as tightly as a spring. The barest movement has her on edge; at the snap of fabric parting, it takes all of her self-control to contain a gasp.

“We’ll need a revised timeline,” she says, voice strained. “If this is going to affect launch, marketing will need to know immediately.”

A firm, steady tug, and her panties disappear. She’s going to kill Natasha once this call is over.

Luckily, Dawkins picks up the thread of the conversation. When Natasha puts her hands on Pepper’s ass and pull her forward in a sudden, sharp move, Natasha barely catches herself. She lurches toward the computer screen and only just manages to save herself from crashing face first into it by bringing a hand to her chin thoughtfully.

Dawkins takes it as encouragement. “It’s unconscionable,” he’s saying, well on his way into a rant that has clearly been building. She’s lost the thread of the conversation – she’ll have to remember to request a report – but there doesn’t seem to be an exit in sight.

Natasha’s tongue licks over her clit with a firm stroke and Pepper has to wrap a hand around the edge of the desk to keep herself from shooting out of her chair. She’s so wet there’ll be no taking Natasha to task later, at least not with any credibility, and she should be furious.

Onscreen, Saitoh and Dawkins are arguing fiercely.

The drag of Natasha’s tongue is languorous, one long stroke after another, and it’s going to drive Pepper crazy. It’s a slow, methodical build, and she doesn’t have the patience for it. She’s sitting in her office with Natasha between her legs, and it’s not the time for reserve.

She leans forward even further under the guise of interest, one hand slipping beneath her desk to find the back of Natasha’s head. She pulls her in close, a not so subtle directive, and can almost feel Natasha’s grin.

“I’ll need this in writing,” she says, eyes flashing down, and she hopes they think she’s perusing paperwork. Instead, she’s taking in the contrast between her pale skin and the crimson of Natasha’s hair, and the rhythmic bob of Natasha’s head as she draws her tongue between Pepper’s legs over and over again. “A full report, from both of you.”

There’s value to playing the role of the displeased supervisor, she decides, abruptly shutting down the web cam connection. A second later and her other hand is on the back of Natasha’s head as well, pulling her close, and she feels the tension ratchet higher as Natasha focuses on her clit with short, hard licks that almost seem to blur together.

“I can’t believe,” Pepper says, but the rest of the words trail off as her orgasm hits her, hard and fast. She’s curled in on herself, still holding Natasha tightly to her, her chair creaking as her hips jerk against Natasha’s mouth.

When she finally releases her grip, Natasha leans back and smirks up at her. She runs her tongue over her lips, sucks the bottom one into her mouth and releases it slowly, and offers a nonchalant shrug.

“You were saying?” she asks, her voice a sexy rasp that reignites within Pepper the desire Natasha just satiated.

Pepper reaches over to the intercom on her desk and pushes the call button for her executive assistant. “I’m going to need the next hour free,” she says, eyes never leaving Natasha’s. “Make my apologies to anyone this inconveniences.”

Natasha reaches for the first button on her blouse, her smirk deepening. “Something you need, Miss Potts?”

Pepper buries her affectionate exasperation behind a stoic, professional mask. “I’m reminded that your performance review is past due. Let’s discuss the areas for improvement I see in your work.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Natasha says, abandoning her buttons to run her hands along Pepper’s thighs once again. “Perhaps I should update my file with another successful demonstration?”

“Perhaps,” Pepper agrees, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms behind her head. “Proceed when you’re ready.”


End file.
